


Nearly Morning

by notabadday



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, unashamed fluff no apologies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7179041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabadday/pseuds/notabadday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in a brief pocket of peace and quiet before Negan, before it all falls apart - again. Rick can't sleep; neither can Judith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nearly Morning

**Author's Note:**

> The title, while only partially relevant to the fic, was picked because when I was writing this, I was pretty much listening to **[this beautiful, hella Richonne song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIoz6yZXbcY)** throughout my writing process. 
> 
> The repetition of "any second now" really felt connected to that feeling I had in my heart (YES, MY HEART) whenever a Rick and Michonne scene came along. Like, it was there, that undercurrent of romantic tension, waiting to offer them comfort and release and hope. This is rather irrelevant so I'll shut up, but just know that I'm messed up over that song and this ship. And both of those things separately. Enjoy the fic, BYE.

They fall asleep in the midst of lazy, satiated affection, their limbs tangled together like loose knots coming apart.

 Restless dreams come between them and he wakes himself up in an unconscious effort not to disturb her. It’s the middle of the night. Or what translates to the early hours of the next morning. Rick stares up at the ceiling, his over-active mind drawing up plans, writing notes, pushing hard against a tide of nightmare scenarios.

 He doesn’t notice when she stirs too. He doesn’t feel her light shine on him, or notice the brush of a gentle hand moving over his chest. Not until she speaks – warmly, but sombrely.

 “Don’t disappear on me.” A sad smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.

 “I’m here,” he rushes to reassure her, his face turning to hers and betraying the torment in his mind. But there’s also a promise – in his eyes and on his lips. “I’m with you.”

 A full smile settles before she says, resolutely, “Yeah. You are.” Rick is looking at her lips as they move to it, unconscious of himself mirroring her expression. She goes quiet, watching him watching her.

 Rick doesn’t catch himself falling into an awed reverie as he gazes across at the woman lying beside him. He’s admiring the thoughtful look in her eye and that _impossible_ smile and the perfect line of her shoulders with only moonlight marking out her silhouette. And then something slips out. Small and heavy.

 “I love you.”

 He’s been carrying it around for a while. Packed away with everything else, this one wholly perfect thing, too precious to fall in with the rest of it. It had had its own forgotten compartment. Safe from the heavy load that had burdened Rick since the start of it all, but concealed by the weight of all that.

 Still.

 Now it had fallen out.

 “Rick?” She draws him back.

 He speaks unsteadily, the timber of his voice softening to little more than a breath. “You must have known.”

 “I thought – hoped, maybe – that I came across your mind from time to time, in those small pockets of quiet, but I didn’t believe,” she admits, pausing for a long, patient while to reach for the words, “that I could mean to you what you have always meant to me.”

 “You made me want to live, Michonne.” It comes out bluntly. His whole body shifts onto its side to face her, to leave nothing between them. “I was surviving. People were counting on me; Carl and Judith were counting on me. I survived. But you made me want to _live_ again. For something else. For something _more_.”

 Her eyes are making a map of his face, looking for the part that gives it away: his deceit – or perhaps her fantasy.

 Rick’s used to those silent stares. It’s caution. It’s care. Self-preservation, even.

 He adds, “I am yours. Till the end of the line.”

 “End of the line, huh?”

 He gives a sweet nod, his head burying into his pillow. The way it fluffs up his tousled hair prompts Michonne to instinctively move her hand to his curls, brushing affectionately through waves of them.

 She leans in to plant a loving, earned kiss on his lips until–

 A loud, shrieking cry pulls them apart. Rick rolls backwards to get a look at the baby monitor. A disappointed groan escapes him before he turns back, places a sweet, chaste kiss to Michonne’s lips and says, “Hold that thought.”

 

* * *

 

When morning comes, sun at last risen, the house is suspiciously quiet.

 No screaming Judith. No steady tennis ball beat.

 Carl’s overslept. It’s about the most teenage he’s ever been and he curses himself for it just as soon as he comes to. And then panics – something must be wrong for nothing to be wrong.

 Dressing quickly – pants, shirt, belt, hat and gun – he first decides to check on Judith. The crib is empty. He shuffles downstairs, ignoring his dad’s bedroom out of consideration for a late shift on watch, and finds Carol busying herself around the kitchen.

 “Where’s Judith?”

 “Haven’t seen her this morning. Must be with your dad,” Carol says, her expression tight and unreadable as always. Not entirely cold, not entirely warm.

“He was on watch late last night so I didn’t think he’d be awake.”

“Everything going through Rick’s mind right now, I’d be surprised if he’s asleep,” she replies, a troubling mix of sympathy and bluntness marking her words.

 Carl says nothing but leaves.

 He heads back up the stairs worrying all of a sudden about what kind of a mood Rick might be in. It seems safe to assume a bad one.

 Something about Rick’s innocuous, closed white door compels him to walk away without a knock when he gets there. Ignoring instinct, he shakes off the hesitation and knocks a couple of times, gentle enough that if Rick is sleeping, it won’t disturb him.

 “Come in,” he hears Michonne call through the walls. Her tone is welcomingly melodic. It’s comfortable and confident.

 When Carl opens the bedroom door, he sees Judith with a raggedy stuffed toy clutched in her hand, its stitches coming undone, sat between Rick and Michonne in the bed – wide awake, of course. She’s lovingly leaning into Michonne, who’s very obviously – and casually – wearing one of his father’s t-shirts.

 Rick looks from them to his son, a smile fixed to his expression as though Carl had interrupted a joke that was just a little too funny to shake off right away.

 “Carl,” he says, in that typical, almost comical, drawl. “You alright?”

 Michonne stays silent, watching him linger in the doorway while absently pulling the loose-fitting t-shirt down a little.

 “Checking on Judy.”

 Rick reaches a hand to his daughter’s stomach and tickles her affectionately, drawing Carl’s attention with Judith’s joyous baby laughter – a burst of high giggles beyond her control. Even Carl in his most serious and protective mood can’t help but light up at the sound. And the sight: his sleepy parents and lively baby sister all smiling peacefully in bed together, as though the world isn’t ending outside their window.

 “You look… _happy_.” His last word hangs in the air. A goddamn miracle. _Happy_.

 Rick and Michonne exchange a look at that before a silly grin breaks out on Rick’s face and he turns to Carl to reply, “We are.”

 Michonne watches the young boy’s expression for an honest reaction while steadying Judith with one hand as she begins to clumsily climb over her. Carl’s the only one capable of taking this all away from her, the only one she cares about more than Rick. Though always true, this is a rare most of consciousness to that fact.

 “Do you want me to take Judith?” he asks with benevolent nonchalance.

 Michonne laughs off her relief as Rick replies, “I think we’re good.” He picks the baby off of Michonne to hold her up, adopting a more playful tone to ask his daughter, “We good, trouble? You good?” as he hangs her above him, teasing out another burst of giggles.

 “Don’t you have class in an hour?” Michonne interrupts, turning her attention back to Carl.

 “I was hoping the… happy,” he waves idly, “would distract you.”

 She smiles back – relaxed, assured now. “Not a chance.”

 “Glenn found a bunch of board games in one of the empty houses, I thought we could hang out instead… Have some, I don’t know, family time.”

 Michonne’s resolve entirely collapses in an instance so she looks to Rick.

 “Class today, fun tomorrow.”

 “But dad–”

 “Carl.”

 “Dad, we don’t even know what’s gonna happen tomorrow! Anything could–”

 Rick cuts him off. “When we found this place, things changed. It’s about more than surviving. This place, Alexandria, it has to be somewhere we can build a life, where we can... plan for tomorrow. So that’s what we’ll do.” He pauses, watching Carl give an accepting sigh before adding, “I look forward to whupping both your asses.”

 Michonne gives away a grin before turning to share in Carl’s eye-roll.

 “Whatever,” he says – but warmly, before leaving them alone again.

 “You got some place to be today?” Michonne asks coyly, eyes watching Judith as she bounces precariously in her father’s arms with an arm outstretched to her.

 “I said I’d go up to Hilltop but,” he punctuates by giving Michonne a peck of a kiss, “I think Maggie and Daryl can handle it.”

 As soon as he pulls away, Judith begins to affectionately paw at her dad’s cheek. Michonne can’t help but grin a little.

 An easy sigh escapes Rick as he shifts against the pillows. “Right now I don’t want to leave this bed.”

 “Romantic as that is, someone definitely needs a diaper change.”

Rick lifts Judith up to smell her before swiftly pulling away in disgust. “Oh, good lord. Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He’s rolled out of bed and started off before Michonne can wipe the smile off her face long enough to say, “Come back with food!” as he disappears into the hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
